


Holding On

by RunawayRabbit



Category: The Losers - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Snark, Torture, Yes Jensen is his own warning, jensen - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-21
Updated: 2010-07-10
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:19:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RunawayRabbit/pseuds/RunawayRabbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clay's not feeling too sure about things ever since Roque turned on them like he did. And then they all get jumped en route to a new hideout, and everything falls apart. How can Clay possibly get back the boys once they're taken? And can they survive that long? After all, three captives means two are redundant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Clay

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this when the movie came out ack in 2010, and I'm reposting it here to try and be organized. Hope you enjoy it. =)

CLAY

Ever since he let Max get away, Clay's been on edge. Not every second of every day, no, but as soon as Jensen stopped cracking jokes or bickering with Pooch, or Aisha stopped uncovering new trails for them to chase and the dust was all settled, then he reverted to a tense readiness. He watched his boys more closely now- and Aisha too, who was quickly becoming a long-lost foster sister to the rest of them. One that they fought with more often than not, but still almost like one of the boys. It was not quite the same relationship she had with Clay, which was fine with him. He liked his women volatile.

Part of the problem was that Max was still out there, and while he'd had his claws clipped and his fangs cracked he was still probably the most dangerous man Clay had ever met. And Clay had met some dangerous men. Max was just always three god damn steps ahead. But they were hot on his trail, and he could only keep the dance going for so long. What worried Clay more was the new insecurities he was developing about his team. It was a weakness, like the crack in an egg shell you didn't want to touch for fear of the whole thing splitting open. He'd mentioned it to Aisha once before- they had lives outside the Losers. Jensen's niece, and especially Pooch now with his baby. Those were some strong pulls. And Cougar was one of the most reliable men Clay had ever known, but he had a loner streak in him. It had been part of his problem before he'd joined the team. Aisha was never truly here enough to even constitute her absence as missing, but it only made it more obvious how much less okay he'd gotten with the idea of them going their separate ways. He used to think that even if they all left, fell apart, he'd still have Roque. And look how that had turned out.

Clay refused to admit, even to himself, that he still missed the man sometimes. When they needed to blow something up, or when they came across something that needed the finesse of knives to fix. Or when he knew he was being particularly stubborn about something, and Roque's voice crawled into his ear to tell him off, and remind him to get his priorities straight. It still hurt, so Clay didn't even touch those ideas that lurked in the back of his head. No reason to even go there- he'd turned on them, and when Clay had seen Pooch, Cougar and Jensen lined up and on their knees at gunpoint, he knew there would be no redemption. That Roque wasn't his second in command anymore, his closest and oldest friend, not after he'd set up the boys for slaughter. Clay didn't regret a second of what happened after that. It was as it had to be.

But now he kept finding reasons why they had to do everything together, move in a pack, stay close. He was lucky no one seemed to find it weird that they all moved as a unit to watch the Petunias play soccer, or staked out rooms in Pooch's house and took turns babysitting. All Clay knew was that the boys were all he had now, that and his vendetta against Max. And his boys were the best in the business, so even the secret scumbag of the CIA had started the beginning of his own end when he blew up that helicopter full of children, thinking it was them. Clay took that kind of thing personal.

Right now he had to focus on the immediate, the little steps to get to that goal. There wasn't a lot else they could do while they still, technically, didn't exist. They only had about a month's vacation before Aisha alerted them to the fact that Max was looking for them again. The fucker must have gotten his feet back under him, because now some people were asking questions, and it'd be best if no one went looking around their families to find them. And while he'd definitely miss this domestic month they'd spent living like civilians, like some kind of militant family of uncles to Jensen's niece and Pooch's kid, it'd be good to get back to the only world he really knew.

But first he had to kick everyone else's asses back into line.

"Pooch, finished with the truck? We're settled? We're leaving at eighteen hundred hours, make sure you've got the essentials. Jensen, you heard me? Essentials only, got it?" The blonde techie gave a mocking salute and a wry grin from across the lawn, by the lightly packed van.

"Sure thing, Boss! Now Pooch, I got this phone set up so it'll loop through its receiver company and come up like a ghost on the records, and just as a little silver lining there won't even be a money trail, so you're getting it for free- but I'd still say lay low about it, alright?"

"Jensen, what the hell did you just say to me?"

"Basically it's untraceable and won't come up on phone records, so it'll be safe to talk to your wife on it. And it's pretty much free service. But no ongoing hours of phone sex, go it? It'll start to look awkward if some phone company spots it, and it's not fair to the rest of us."

"JENSEN, do you want me to kill you right here? On the front lawn of my own house, and with the whole neighborhood to witness it? Learn to muzzle yourself, dammit!"

Clay couldn't help smiling as he turned and headed back inside to say goodbye to Jolene and the baby. As much of a pain as the blonde was, _all the time_ , you couldn't deny he kept their lives interesting.

After a good half hour spent arguing with the kid about what kind of electronics counted as 'essentials' for a hacker, they finally managed to get everyone on the road and out of the small suburban life they'd been visiting. Clay had Pooch on a straight shot to New York- and he grabbed the front seat this time too, leaving Jensen to nag Aisha, and Cougar to ignore them both. The road rolled past three hours of it before they'd even reached the edges of New York, and Clay was amazed that no blood had been shed in the back seats yet, though there'd been a few close calls. By the time they were heading over the bridge into New York City, the blonde had moved on from stiltedly hitting on Aisha to pestering her about stories from her time in New York, since she'd stayed there a few months back.

It was about then that everything went to shit.

Guys in nondescript, dark clothing popped up from corners and cars, two even appeared up in the supporting cables of the bridge, shooting out their tires and bringing the whole bridge to a standstill with an earsplitting cacophony of screeches. It eerily reminded Clay of Miami, except this time, his team was the target.

"GET DOWN, FIRE AT WILL, WATCH FOR CIVILIANS!" Clay roared his orders as he flung open his door and rolled to the ground as a wave of bullets smashed into the side of the van, hiking up his gun to fire from under the car. There was barely a pause before Aisha was at his other side, rolled in from the left flank. Clay tried taking out a few of the snipers first, but he was hitting two out of the seven of them from this angle and distance. He needed Cougar for that. He switched to shoot two guys coming towards the car and then rolled away to hide under the truck next to them. Their section of the highway was in lockdown, and it seemed like most people had the god damned sense to stay in their cars this time. Clay heard the thump of someone falling into his old spot while he checked on the enemy- they were heavily armored, and the only places he could hit were non-fatal and unlikely to do anything more than slow them down.

"Damn- Cougar, keep an eye on the snipers! See if we can hit these guys with something a bit heavier than handguns!"

"You got it, boss!" Pooch was still in the driver's seat, but he had his head down and his hands on something that looked a lot bulkier than his normal Beretta.

"Well shit, looks like we're boxed in here. Seriously though, could they be any less original? Using our own tricks against us, damn that's desperate." Jensen sounded like he was still in the van somewhere.

"Desperate like you're desperate, techie?" Pooch grunted before firing off a shot out the window that had the approaching four soldiers blown backwards.

Clay had that strange juxtaposition of feeling like he was leading a team of elite super soldiers and babysitting a bunch of kids. It was hard to say which was more true. But he could use both scenarios to fuel the fires of his battle rage, which was all he really cared about at the moment.

"Watch the skies men, they're up to something!" Clay had that bad, chilled feeling he got when he saw the rapidly growing dot in the sky. Too fast for a helicopter- they wouldn't use air weaponry on them, would they? They had civilians and their own men down here! The dot grew and formed a suspiciously sleek shape. Clay glanced at everyone's position.

"Cougar, get back up in the van! Be point cover- Pooch, Jensen, stay in the truck! Is Aisha still there? You guys need to make a retreat, _now!_ "

"What the fuck- 'you guys'? Where're you going, Colonel?" Pooch snapped while he scanned the crowded Tetris field of cars.

"I'm clear of the van- you guys go without me, I'll catch up with you in the city!" It was Aisha, sounding far away and voicing Clay's own plan. He wanted to demand she leave too, that he'd hold them up, but that jet was almost on them now.

"Get out, we'll meet you!" He didn't dare shout out a location on the battlefield, but they all knew where to go anyway. They were at least _that_ professional.

"You better be there!" Pooch demanded, throwing the van into reverse and screeching a pathway between the gridlocked cars that Clay would have bet money wasn't possible a second ago.

"Aisha, regroup!" Clay fired a few shots and rolled to another vehicle in her general direction.

"Way ahead of you, Clay." Aisha was abruptly at his elbow. She smirked at him and rolled out from under the car, so skinny she was almost flat on the ground, and screamed as she let out rapid fire rounds. Clay gave a small laugh to himself before all humor was wiped from his mind as he spied the same jet flash above them, twin trails of smoke branching off and heading towards the others. Pooch was good, but he could only move through a New York City deadlock so fast, and it wasn't fast enough. The only thing Clay could do was watch as the van was hit- and a soft cloud of smoke enveloped it.

Clay's heart only had a second to jump in relief before it stuttered again as the van lost control and slammed to a stop in the side of another car. Clay could see the people in their cars nearby falling onto their steering wheels.

"Dammnit Clay, we've got to get out of here!" Her strong fingers dug into the muscle of his arm, but Clay shrugged her off and started to climb out from under the car.

"Get off me woman!" Almost all the heat on the two of them switched to head for the still van, Pooch, Jensen and Cougar still inside.

"Clay! There's nothing we can do, there's too many of them! If they haven't killed them now they won't for a while, we can come back for them. Let's go!" Damn her and her coldblooded logic! Clay didn't want to hear it, but his military mind saw the situation from a tactics standpoint and knew it was the only thing he could really do. But doing the most coldblooded, logical thing hadn't always been a strong point of his- technically, it was his largest drawback as a Black Ops commander and had earned him his place on the Losers.

He roared in frustration and turned away as men in black swarmed into the nondescript van that housed everything worthwhile in his life. He shrugged out of Aisha's hold and sprinted towards the edge of the road- it fell off into open air. Aisha was two steps behind him as they flung themselves off the bridge, into its shadow on the water.

Clay hit in practiced perfect form, and the cold could do little to numb his body any more than it already was. He and Aisha swam for the nearest pillar, and Clay went into mission-escape autopilot. He'd done it so many times before that his mind emptied away into a blanket of white, leaving only the grasping cold wetness of his clothes, the chemical dust of the air, the steady pounding of adrenalin in his ears and the burning conviction that he was going to get them back.

He had to.


	2. Aisha

AISHA

The man was a mess. Understandable, he'd just lost everything. But it was only a temporary setback. It wasn't over yet- this could be fixed. Aisha had lived by the mantra of Never Say Die and the only way to deal with the frustration of being powerless was to be powerful- the anger of being robbed, the rage and grief of losing someone, was to channel it into results. To take aim at your goal with a steady hand, and pull the trigger. It was a fools past time to reminisce on the blonde's stupid grin, the driver's warm eyes and the sniper's calm acceptance. It wouldn't bring her anything other than a weak heart.

Once they'd reached dry land and successfully avoided capture, Aisha led them to the half abandoned room in Queens she used from time to time. It was dirty, empty and small, but rumored to be owned and sometimes frequented by a dangerous drug lord and therefore unbothered by the locals. Aisha had started those rumors herself.

When Aisha emerged from the shower, fully dressed and somewhat less coated in Hudson River slime, she found Clay exactly where she left him; dripping on the floor in a chair by the corner. Aisha finished toweling her hair dry.

"You can use the shower now. It still has hot water." The man didn't even look at her, staring out the grim coated window like that would solve his problems. Aisha slung her hair up into a spiky bun, growled her frustration and slammed her hands on either side of the chair, pinning him in.

"Pull yourself together Colonel! Sitting there isn't going to help any of them, and you damn well know it."

He didn't bother to even look at her, wet hair against his face and his eyes dull. She thought she saw something spark in his eyes when she mentioned helping them, but it could be she just wanted to see one. And she didn't lie to herself.

"Fine, rot here. I'm not going to tie your bib and whip your ass for you. You can act like a baby by your damn self." She shoved away from him and moved to the door, snatching and stashing away her guns and knives as she came across them. She pulled on a coat and paused with the door open when she heard him start to speak behind her.

"… don't call me that. I'm not a soldier anymore." And she slammed it behind her. She didn't need to hear crap like that. She had more important things to do.

Aisha headed outside, hands deep in her pockets and fingering a short blade. She'd known he'd be like that, should have seen it a mile away- she knew how much they meant to him. Without his men he was just the shell of a puppet, only his burning, fiery need to get them back acting as his strings. She'd figured him out pretty early on, really. Not like Jensen would, with his complicated vocabulary and textbook knowledge, but with an instinctual gut feeling. Dangerous creatures tend to recognize one another.

The true reason she was out here now, in the shadowy city streets with the encroaching night and barely the beginnings of a plan was because it was better than being in there. She couldn't have stayed in that small room with Clay's misery like a pacing animal. She couldn't have sketched out plans and uncovered the information needed to get ride of Max when he sat there looking like he did. It was distracting. She didn't have time to deal with that, or think about Pooch- or his baby, his wife- or Jensen, with that sweet, happy smile and his family who adored him, or Cougar and his gentle quiets that spoke more than his words and his careful eye always watching out for the boys, because Aisha could see that too in Clay's silences.

 _No, don't you go there Aisha, don't you think about that_. The burning nugget of pain in her chest was only a distraction, and there was only so much room in her small body to house fiery vengeance. But if Max wasn't holding all of them somewhere safe, sound and alive for her to retrieve, she'd be adding three more reasons to cut his balls off and shove them down his throat. Of course, she doesn't know what she'd do with Clay after that. The boys gone would make things so much more complicated. How did you kill a dead man? How could she take out her father on his hide when he didn't have anything left to lose?

Aisha sauntered up to a typical paint chipped row home apartment in the depths of residential Queens, punching a buzzer and stepping back to watch the street.

"Hello?" Came the monotonic fuzz from the dying speaker. Aisha pushed the button in response.

"Jay, let me in."

"Huh? Oh. Oh! Um yeah, come on up…" The door let out a loud buzzer and Aisha made her way through and up three flights of stairs to meet her local contact. Jay let her in without comment.

She laid out any and all information she gathered from the attack. Quick descriptions and sketches of the men who looked to be in charge, any company signs or symbols on the trucks or weapons used, a piece of hardware snatched up at the site. He was a quiet man, and good at his job- two things she appreciated in an operative. Only one of which her current (past?) techie possessed. She let the New York native run some searches on the evidence while she arranged the pay, and avoided remembering how Jensen would smile and crack jokes when he did the same thing, for free.

After acquiring the information she came for, she quickly made her escape. It took her iron strong will to keep nervous energy from pushing her into a sprint back.

When she returned it was obvious Clay had been ruminating about his lost operatives as well. He had a small handheld electronic device that must have belonged to Jensen, halfheartedly staring as the screensaver flashed images of the Petunias and various places they'd conducted missions in.

"Can you use that?" 

He glanced up at her, and then back down to the device.

"As long as Jensen hasn't screwed with it too much and it functions like a normal computer, yeah. But it is Jensen. He would." He paused a moment, his stare looking a little more focused now. "I haven't had to work one of these in a while- I usually had a comm guy for that. And ever since we got Jensen I haven't had to lift a finger… except to shut the kid up."

Aisha stayed silent as he taped at the screen and brought up the password protected screen. He taped on the screen keyboard for a bit while Aisha packed her findings and supplies away and moved to sit next to him.

"Damn, I thought it'd be something to do with his family… he definitely mentioned that being the case before." Clay muttered to himself. He hovered over it a moment and bit of a huff, moving to type in a few more attempts. The small computer binged and the screen flashed past the entry page, startling Clay into a jump only a woman as highly trained as Aisha would have noticed.

"What was it?" She asked.

"Uh, 'Losers'." Clay murmured in response, quickly brushing past the moment to delve into the device. There were a few more passwords to crack, but they followed the same pattern the first one set that it was easy enough for someone from the team to figure out.

Aisha decided it would be best not to mention anything about it. Eventually they pull up the tracking system on some of the equipment the boys had on them before they were taken. Though unlikely they would still have them on their persons, it would be a start. Even knowing this Aisha's heart did a little stutter when the map placed them on the bottom of the Hudson Bay, by the docks. Aisha could see Clay's eyes go wide and how his movements were all a little too quick and jerking- sure signs that his adrenaline was up and panicking. It wouldn't do either of them any good to bring that up though, so she just ignored it and packed in the quick methodical pattern her father had taught her in the jungles of South America. She was ready to go in seconds. Her finds could wait until they'd checked out the site.

Of course, she was driving.

When they pulled up to the bay and spilled out of the car to rush the dock, they looked down to see the dark hard shapes of their equipment caught in a net.

"God fucking damn it!" Clay growled to himself as he scaled the fence and started his decent. Aisha let him check on their condition while she leaned on the rail and pulled out her own mini GPS, crosschecking the map and her gathered information to pinpoint when they had been here and where they were most likely headed. By the time Clay has climbed back up the sea stained dock, affirming that nothing was riddled with bullet holes and with info on how long they seemed to have been submerged for, Aisha had all the basics Clay needed for a plan.

And they were ready to run those bastards down.


	3. Pooch

POOCH

He wakes up to a slap to the face and darkness surrounding him. After he takes a second to blink the spots from his eyes, Pooch can see he's surrounded by figures in the shadows, dark tall and looming. His first thought is, _fuck_.

And then a fist descends into his right cheekbone, snapping his head to the left. And _damn_ did this guy throw a hard right. Pooch was seeing stars and the demanding voices shouting at him seemed to be coming from under water. Which made no sense to Pooch- if you were going to demand answers, you'd think you'd ask the questions before giving potentially disorienting head shots. Pooch might have mentioned it, if he had any intention of answering their questions anyway.

"Listen, we want the names of any and all contacts, and locations for where the rest of you are hiding. We're not patient men, and we get bored easily. Get my meaning?"

Pooch squinted up through the poorly lit room to blink at the man. Were they serious? He was ex- black ops, for god's sake. They'd have to try a little harder than that.

"Believe me, this is going to be a lot more fun for me than it is for you." And again, another shot to the face. Followed by three shots to the torso- Roque did better, in his day. Pooch coughed up what felt like his soul and tried to gasp in some air. But wait- the rest of them?

"Now you listen here." The lead man, a big stocky bruiser, grabbed Pooch's whole head in his hand, whispering into his face. "We don't really need you. We've picked up some other members of your team- which leaves us with two spares, doesn't it? Hmm, now doesn't make everything that much easier? See, we only need one of you to talk. So the only thing that may keep you alive is how quickly you decide to start being useful."

That gets to Pooch. The last thing he remembered was smoke seeping into the van and the world going dark. Who had been with him- Jensen and Cougar? They must be the other two. Damn, and how was Clay going to get them out of this one? They were up shit creek and they didn't even have a boat. Jensen and Cougar wouldn't talk- well Jensen might but he wouldn't actually be saying anything. The most frustrating part was that this shouldn't have even happened. Pooch was a family guy- his wife and kid first and foremost, but then there were the Losers, his brothers, his family. And his wife and kid were one thing, but fuck, the guys should have been able to take care of themselves, of each other. This shouldn't have happened.

"You listening to me, you dumb fuck? You not hearin' me?" Pain exploded in his left hand, and Pooch choked back a strangled bellow. He glanced down to see his pinky bent at an awkward angle, the butt of the man's gun poised above it. "Are we listening now? Good. Because I know this is all just a formality. You probably won't break with a normal beating. Black Ops, and all that." The man moved back and crouched down, so he was right in Pooch's face.

"But we have you by the balls, and you don't even know it yet. You been with these guys a while, huh? Would probably suck to watch them die in front of you."

Pooch tried to stop any reaction from showing, but he couldn't help his eyes narrowing a fraction of an inch or the muscles bunching tight in his shoulders. This should not have happened. Something must have gone wrong- no had ever been able to pin them down like that before, except for when they'd been betrayed by Roque, one of their own. And unless it was Aisha, in which case he'd tear the bitch to pieces himself, there was no one else for it to be. Not Jensen or Cougar, the whole fact they were taken too notwithstanding. And no way in hell would it ever be Clay. The very idea seemed like a contradiction.

So something else must have gone wrong.

"Still not talking, huh? You need some more convincing? Good. I'm waiting to watch you squirm, maggot." Maggot? Where did they get this guy, a juvie boot camp?

The guy got up and walked back to the encircled mass of blank-faced bodies. After a few seconds in the shadows he came back with a folder in his hand.

"Let's see here. You got a woman, huh?" Pooch knew the guy was looking for a reaction but he couldn't help the fire that burst through his veins, making him clench his good hand into a fist, or the waves of rage that blinded him. He held himself as still as steel.

"Yeah, and a kid too. We know about them." Pooch was shaking, he couldn't hold up against that, if they went near his family… it would break him. "A little girl, huh? Adorable. And I could stop by for a visit; tell them how Daddy's doing." There was a smirk in the tone, but Pooch remembered to breathe and tried to keep himself calm. Their information was wrong. They didn't know as much as they pretended. More could be wrong too.

"Thought they'd be safe out in a big empty Midwestern state, blissfully ignorant in the middle of nowhere, but turns out your little world isn't as secure as you thought." Pooch felt the hyper tension drain from his spine like chilled ice, giving him goosebumps. They didn't know anything; they couldn't hurt Jolene or the baby. They would be okay.

But he couldn't let this man know that.

"… not much of a family man, I'm afraid." Pooch lied. His first spoken response was met with another hard right to the face- these guys didn't really know what they were doing, did they? Amateurs.

Two potentially broken ribs and another cracked finger later, Pooch was breathing past a bloody mouth and making a running tally of all the ways they were screwing up. Big man on campus here, however, seemed satisfied with his work as he wrung out his hand, sending flecks of blood flying, a small smirk on his face.

"I'm going to give you a moment to think about your options. Then I'm going to come back with another unhelpful member of your crew." He paused, hand lightly touching his ear as he listened to a comm. "Then, if you're still feeling unhelpful, you can watch him die. And after you can decide if one crew member left is better than none." He smirked, stared down at him, and walked out the door. From the sound of it closing, it was thick and heavy. Maybe half a foot deep, steel. Not especially well made but good enough for a cell. Pooch hung his head and tried to catch his breath, panting past the blood-clogged nose.

There was no way in hell he could get himself out of this one on his own.

It wasn't long before the bulky tumblers turned in the lock and the thick door was yanked open. The door was behind Pooch, facing the back of the chair he was strapped to. He could only hear the plodding footsteps and the hiss and drag of something heavy being pulled across the concert. His neck was feeling sore, so he waited until the object was dragged into his line of vision before trying to get a good look at it.

The sight of it just about stopped his heart.

He saw it all in clinical flashes- first and foremost the limp body, unconscious (not dead), multiple strikes to the head and, from what could be seen from under the torn shirt, to the torso as well. The bruises were going purple, so not more than an hour or two old. A gunshot wound that was still bleeding on his upper shoulder- the other one, not the one Aisha got him in over a month ago. One of his lenses had a crack running down it, like a fissure in the earth. They hung off his face like decoration- his bruised lids were closed, his eyelashes landing on his split cheek.

What bothered Pooch the most, logically, was the blood still weeping from the gunshot wound. What bothered him the most emotionally was the way Jensen's limp body looked against the dirty concrete floor.

_Be cool Pooch, be cool._

Again, his reactions were hard to control. A growl came crawling up out of his throat, all on its own, his vision tunneled to just the sight in front of him, outlined in black. He could feel the heat in his face and he knew his eyes were turning that angry bloodshot red.

Fuckin' Jensen, the stupid kid. He would, he would get himself into to this kind of trouble with that god damned, never ending mouth of his. That had to be it. He could piss off a nun- and had, actually- and couldn't stop himself from talking his way into the bad books of a man hired to beat his face in. Typical.

But Pooch doesn't have any real siblings, and he's pretty sure if he did it'd be something similar to his unending teasing banter with the blonde.

"You guys plan on patching up that hole, or you think he'll still be so useful dead?" Pooch managed to growl out between grit teeth.

"Can't be much more useless than he is alive. Unless you're willing to say otherwise?" The man has his god damn smirk back in place, and this time it almost drove Pooch crazy.

"Damn man, I've never had a captive I couldn't get to shut UP before, and still have him not say a fuckin' thing." Laughed one of the newer guys, who'd just come in with Jensen. 

Jensen's body. Jensen.

Pooch lets a bitter smile curve his cut lips. So that was it, of course he guessed right. Jensen would get himself looking like raw meat because he couldn't, ever, keep that mouth of his shut. He wouldn't be Jensen if he didn't dig himself a freakin' hole every time he so much as breathed.

For a genius, the kid was amazingly stupid. Then again, that was something Pooch liked about him, even if he'd never admit it.

Pooch could feel the tint of despair lurking at the edges of his rage, waiting for him. And there was nothing he could do. He couldn't even pull past his binds and touch him to see if his skin was cool. Pooch felt like he was sick and heavy, nauseous even. He let himself slump forward and his glare unfocus on the ground.

Useless.

He could hear them dragging Jensen off again.

"By the looks of this kid, I'd say you've only got a couple of hours to come up with a really good story." He hears that smile again, the mocking laughing in the man's voice and Pooch grits his teeth together to keep it all in. He waits as the rest of the black shadows file out behind him, until he's alone in this cement, steel box. Once the door clicks into place behind him, he lets his low wordless roar rip from his raw throat.

He screams at the walls and kicks at the legs of his chair until his voice cracks and his lungs give out. Then he hangs limp and panting, heavy with the knowledge that he can't give them a nugget of real truth, but he just couldn't let them kill Jensen either.

And the real truth was that he couldn't do anything at all.


	4. Cougar

COUGAR

Cougar could feel the cement through his worn vest as they dragged him into a small, dimly lit room. His whole body was tense and on edge, but he knew fighting back wouldn't do him much good just yet. 

At least he still had his hat.

"Hey, you staying?"

"Nah, we won't need more than two guys for this one. He's kinda scrawny- I heard he was the long range guy. I don't think he'll be a problem."

"Yeah he didn't say a word on the way over either."

"I thought I heard him mumbling something when he first came around?"

"Some sort of Spanish mumbo jumbo crap- curses, probably."

"Alright, whatever man. I'm going to check in and come back. You can warm him up for me if you want."

"My pleasure." The guard left standing in the room turned an slimy grin on the sniper, while the other flicked a hand signal at the guard outside the door before letting the heavy metal fall shut behind him. Cougar filed all the details away in his head from his slouched position on the floor.

"Well hello there pretty, you speak English?" The tone was mockingly soft, the man's eyes narrowed in amusement. Out of nowhere a boot slammed into Cougar's ribs, pain exploding in his side. Cougar coughed and gasped a bit, further curling into himself. He wished like all hell that his hands weren't tied behind his back, for more reason than one.

"You answer me, boy!" The man growled low and rough, and Cougar glanced up with dark eyes. The man wasn't that much older, though time hadn't been as kind to him. Ugly bastard.

Cougar was kicked over and a boot pressed onto his collarbone, knocking his hat to one side in the process. The guard above him sneered down as he slowly applied greater and greater pressure.

"What, you stupid or something? You some kinda dumb, border hoping spick? Huh?"

Cougar glared at the man and said nothing, concentrating on breathing past the weight so close to his lungs and throat. The steel door squealed open and he glanced over to see a matching pair of boots marching in. The pressure on his chest receded a little.

"How's it going?"

"Eh, not a peep from the mouse. Man, why'd we get stuck with the retarded one? I can't believe I'm wasting my time on him."

"He can still be useful as leverage, at least. Looks like we've got three, so that's two left over for making the third talk, right?"

Cougar didn't speak, or even growl low in his throat like he wanted to, but he took great pleasure in imagining snapping the man's large Roman nose with the heel of his boot. The one still towering above him, that is. The other one he'd strangle with the plastic that bound his hands.

"Well let's see what he spills out with a little bit more persuasion, maybe he'll drop some names." As the two turned to Cougar, he told himself to keep his temper and not start something he couldn't follow through with. Like dislocating someone's kneecap. As he was yanked up by his collar and pinned to a wall, he stared the man holding him in the eyes and promised death.

It must be around a half hour later when they finally stopped. Cougar lay loose and limp like a felled animal on his knees, head bowed but waiting for opportunity to present a moment. He watched them through his lashes and mussed hair as the two made snide comments to each other on their way out the door. Cougar waits for a few slow heartbeats before moving back to the far wall, slumping against it to rest.

His eyes snap open at the creaking of the tumblers turning in the door. He waits, the watches with shadowed eyes as the guard from before reenters.

"Hey there pretty, miss me?" He didn't look at Cougar as he said this, obviously not expecting a response, and shut the door behind him.

"So we decided not to be so nice this time. Wouldn't want anyone to think we were playin' favorites, now would ya?" He turned around wearing that same ugly grin that made Cougar's fingers itch for a trigger. Cougar lay slouched against the wall, as languid as a snake. His hat was untouched by the previous beating, two inches from his foot on the floor.

The man took two steps forward only to halt at the muffled sounds that briefly flared in from the hall. He half turned back and cocked an eyebrow, listening. A few seconds of silence later a brisk knock sounded through the door. Cougar watched as he stepped forward, twisted the knob and pulled it open- and then jerked in shock as a muffled 'pop' burst to life, and he fell to his knees.

His collapse cleared Cougars line of sight, revealing the slender limbs and cocky gun tilt that was Aisha. She flicked her eyes around the room and moved in, Clay a step behind her.

Cougar could feel a wicked grin sneak across his face. He leaned forward as Aisha strode toward him, giving her space to cut his binds with a single vicious, upward tug. Cougar noticed his rifle in Clay's off-hand as he rubbed some life into his sore limbs.

"Hey Cougs, how you doin'?" Clay asked, waiting for Cougar to get stiffly to his feet before tossing over the snipers prized possession.

"Better now." He responded, catching the rifle easily and looking her over.

"We picked her up in the armory, with rest of our things." Clay answered the non-question, waving a hand at where Pooch and Jensen's guns rested on his belt.

"We followed those men back to your room, so we're back at square one again guys. We need to find the others." Aisha reminded them, a glare on her face as she made sure her various guns were still present and ready. Cougar snagged his hat, slipping it on his head while he moved towards the door. Clay headed into the hall to check the area.

"You're good to fight?" Aisha asked, following Cougar out. Cougar nodded to her in return, throwing his rifle over one shoulder and snatching a spare handgun off Clay's heavily armed belt.

"Cougar, Aisha- follow my lead and keep an eye out. We're heading in deeper." 

They followed Clay into the labyrinthine building. Only three turns later (direction decided by lighting, noise and guesses) they encounter a promisingly large cluster of guards stationed outside a room with a small rectangular window at the top of the steel door.

Getting rid of the guards was like shooting fish in a barrel. It took them seconds before the area was cleared, and Cougar got a hand on the door and shoved it inward before the last guy had completely settled on the floor. The door opened into a cement box much like the one he'd just left, except for one notable difference.

In the center of the room, facing away from the door, was their transport specialist. He was strapped to the chair by his wrists and ankles, and Cougar's sharp eyes could see the way his chest struggled to take in deep, panicking breathes and how the sweat mixed with blood as it dripped from his face. When he glanced up at their entrance, his eyes were red rimmed and wide, possibly shock, hysteria or panic. Cougar's vision narrowed and he had to remind himself to keep it together. Otherwise he's useless to them.

The first words out of Pooch's mouth aren't what he would have expected.

"Do you have Jensen?" Cougar also notes in the pause after that Pooch doesn't look relieved at all to see them. Cougar hadn't been expecting any overtures of thanks and gratitude, but a complete lack of concern for his own safety wasn't good.

Pooch was still breathing heavy, wild eyed and disoriented as they locked gazes. It chilled the blood in his veins- the whole world was suspended in time while Cougar left his mind blank, purposely not thinking about what Pooch's response could mean. If he did, then it would all become real.

Clay must not have sensed the static disaster crawling through the air, across their skin, because he quickly responded with, "We haven't gotten to him yet." And then, reckless, strong, determined leader that he was, he said it, "Why?"

Pooch dropped his head with a short outtake of breathe- he didn't seem to hear the question at first. Cougar watched as Aisha crossed the room to him, to cut his bindings. Pooch took stilled, shallow breaths as sweat dripped down to the cement of the floor under his nose. Cougar watched Aisha release him in abrupt, violent cuts.

"Pooch, report. What is it?" Clay stirred him to respond.

"We need to get to him. Now. They dragged him in here to show me- he doesn't look good. He was losing blood fast and-"

Cougar doesn't listen to anything more. The rest is just details- the basic message is that Jensen needs them, needs him. And he needs them now. Cougar's already out the door before Aisha can help Pooch struggle to his feet. 

He finds it half on instinct. Maybe it was just the way the halls got wider and slightly more populated, maybe it was the flecks of blood he would spot here and there, or maybe he could just sense the pain and tension in the air. Either way he made almost a beeline to a heavy set door with guards flanking it, his rifle in front of him and fired before he even broke stride. The men crumple in silence. His silencer kept his shoots muffle, and his rush to the door is as quiet as death. He heard the steady rush of what must be Clay and Aisha somewhere behind him, held back by a damaged Pooch, but he shot out the lock and threw open the door on his own without waiting.

Inside the room, there was a man examining a familiar blonde haired, crumpled body on the floor. Cougar's heart is ice in his chest, with a fissure-like snap even as he felt the sudden presence of the rest of the team at his back. His vision again narrowed, just to this man, just to Jensen's body on the floor.

Then, the world in details.

A rush forward, and the snap his rifle makes when it hits a man in the jaw. Repeated use on his head. Repeated use of his boots into the soft parts of a man, until they dragged him off. Cougar struggled to get free until Clay shot the man in the head. These men aren't cops, and they aren't innocent- there's no reason to spare their lives.

Cougar slumped in tandem with the dead man, a little of his bottomless rage giving way under him. But he shrugged out of Pooch's fragile hold and moved to examine Jensen with Clay.

He's alive. The vice on Cougar's lungs lets up enough to allow him to breath. Jensen's glasses are cracked, and his usually animated face looks even younger in blank unconsciousness. His ribs feel maybe cracked, but not broken and there's some burns on his hip, his leg, his collar and his palm. A bullet wound in this shoulder. There's a stream of blood trailing down his face, and Cougar thumbed it aside to keep it out of his eyes. The he stood up.

There's nothing more he can do for him here, not right now. Not without better supplies, and a clean space to work. Now was the time for other things he could do. If the others said anything, he didn't hear them, but he thought they probably were wearing expressions mirroring his own feelings about this. Jensen was the kid of the group, the baby of the family. Maybe they weren't all the protector of the group, the guardian dark angel armed with the job of watching their backs, but they felt some version of it. Clay would understand best.

He headed for the door, clutching his rifle in one hand and fingering his handgun in the other, and felt Clay following him out. Maybe it was the other way around. Maybe Cougar understood his commanding officer just a bit better now.

When they returned some time later, bloody and dirty and farther from the edge than they were, Pooch had recovered enough to carry half of Jensen's body with Aisha. Cougar and Clay had been gone long enough for the two to get him to the front of the building, and as they helped load him into the van Clay and Aisha had brought, Jensen started to struggle awake.

"You won't… I've been sworn to silence by... the Superhero's Alliance…"

"Jensen, open your eyes man. We need to see if you're okay." Pooch's voice was a few shades more gentle than the tone he usually used with the obnoxious techie. He and Cougar had the back of the van with Jensen- Clay and Aisha had the front. Pooch's broken fingers kept him from driving.

"Pooch?" He cracked a blue eye at him. "Man, looks like someone introduced you to the business end of a baseball bat."

"Do you see yourself right now?" Pooch cracked a laugh out as he said it, but his crooked smile only made his eyes look sadder. Jensen's returning smile looked at best a grimace.

"Yeah, apparently they aren't big Batman fans. And I don't think they appreciated my constructive criticism concerning their mode of operation. Really, you'd think they were run by pack of monkeys. No imagination." Jensen's strangled breathing and pain laced words belied his light tone, and his attempts at jokes looked like they might make Pooch cry. Not that he would. They were soldiers. Cougar knew that, and kept his gaze pinned on the far side of the van as he leaned back against his side, his long legs framing Jensen. Without looking he nudged the younger man, getting him to lift his head and shifted his calf under him, as a protection against the steel floor as they raced over bumps and pot holes. Jensen probably had a concussion, and at the least a headache.

"Thanks Coug." Jensen mumbled, and Cougar nodded back, letting Jensen's renewed one-man conversation wash over him as he drilled burning holes into the opposite side of the van with his eyes.

Cougar wouldn't let this happen again. It had been too close this time, and having Jensen bleed on the floor in front of him was about as pleasant as watching a helicopter full of children blow up in his face. But he couldn't help them now. He could help Jensen.

Cougar watched over the other man with a fierce, protective intensity until they reached a safe house back in the city.


	5. Jensen

JENSEN

Jensen cracked weary eyes to see battered steel walls. It was amazing how exhausted he could be just waking up, as if he'd been scaling walls and leaping buildings instead of sleeping. His entire body felt like one giant, forbidding ache too. Jensen was smart enough to know if he so much as flinched he would regret it. But at least he was looking at steel walls now, and not cement.

_Focus on the now Jensen, come on. Let's not go back there just yet._

Black lingered on the edges of his vision so he let his eyes slide that small sliver shut again. His body shifted slightly with the humming and movement of the van he was in- it couldn't really be anything else- and its smooth movement was helping his thoughts to drift off, on an internal tangent about the usefulness of obnoxious personalities in covert missions. The van drove over a bump then, and Jensen noticed that his head was pillowed by solid warmth.

Well that was a good sign.

Jensen started to listen to who else was around him, using soldier instincts he'd so far neglected in his exhausted condition. Clay'd tear him a new one for that, if he knew. It took about four seconds for him to ID everyone in the van, and relief stuttered his breathing a little. He'd lived with these guys closely enough, for long enough to know even the sounds of their exhales and the little shifts and non-movements they made. As much as he loved talking, and he did, he could never find the words to explain it.

Cool fingers touched his forehead and Jensen dragged his eyes open again, looking straight up. There, of course, was Cougar. Watching him with two steady brown eyes as Jensen lay pretty much in his lap.

"Good ol' Cougar…" Jensen murmured, enjoying the feeling of waking up pillowed in the lap of a friend and not in a blood stained cement cell.

" _Por supuesto._ " Was Cougar's quiet response, half to himself.

"Jensen?" Jensen dragged his eyes to the other man in the back with him. Pooch looked awful, his face such a mess it was nearly comical. It didn't look like anyone had even tried to patch him up yet. Jensen would have to do it himself then- he was frustrated seeing Pooch's face all beat up, but not surprised. He'd already seen it- the dreamlike moments from what he would assume was the rescue were floating to the surface.

"You never said. You lose a fight with an ex of Clay's or somethin'?" Talking wasn't so hard if he took his time about it and didn't breathe too deep.

Pooch's face looked even more clownish when he scrunched it up like that.

"Same way you did man, and you're far worse than me, so you can't talk. You shouldn't anyway, we're not in the clear yet. Just lie still."

"Pooch? Is Jensen awake?" Jensen heard the gruff voice travel from somewhere beyond his head, a little more hoarse than usual.

"Yeah, he's cracking jokes and everything."

" _Jensen_ you god damned stupid kid! You couldn't keep your fuckin' mouth shut long enough for us to get there? You _tryin'_ to get yourself killed?"

Jensen grinned from his lax position in Cougar's lap. The Colonel only really lost his shit like that when he was all upset about something. Anger was the way the man showed affection.

"Aw, Colonel, you do care! That's so sweet. Did you miss me?"

"Not funny Jensen." Pooch snapped, voice low and quiet but reaching everyone in the steel box. The silence filled up the van like mustard gas. Jensen struggled with his urge to break it. He wanted to look around and check who was there, he guessed Aisha was silent but driving, but he couldn't pull his eyes from Pooch's serious stare.

Cool fingers slipped onto Jensen's forehead and pushed sticky hair away from his eyes.

"Stop talking now." Cougar's accented words made the soft command sound calming, soothing. Well, fine then. He could feel unconsciousness tugging at him like the riptide, and maybe they'd all calm down once they got a room and a drink and everyone was stable. Not in that order.

He could rest a bit 'til then.

Jensen let Cougar slip his cracked glasses off while he relaxed back into sleep.

.

Jensen woke up when they tried to move him from the van.

He went from deeply passed out to his body crackling like it was electric. His eyes sprang open and he sucked air through his teeth in a long hiss. Above him, Clay was eyeing him warily, his arms hooked under Jensen's armpits, lifting him slightly off the van's floor. That look was annoying him- what did he think was going to do, bite him? He wasn't going to attack OR die on the spot, so there was no need for him to look at him like that.

"…Jensen. Do you think you can walk?" Clay asked. Jensen glanced down to see Pooch near his feet, ready to carry his other end. These were strong military men, but the techie had an absolute ton of muscle weight on him. It would be an awkward trip. Jensen shrugged out of his commander's light hold and put his wait on his elbows, exhaling the pain in one long breath. His sore body had gotten stiff in the van.

"Yeah, of course boss. It's not like anyone shot me in both of my legs or anything, right Pooch?"

"Ha ha. Oh Jensen, you are so. Funny. Why don't you try standing before you start talking smack, alright?" Pooch gently nudged the blond's feet over to the open doorway. Standing outside the van, holding open the sliding door for them, was Cougar, silent as always.

"So where's our Amazon princess?" Jensen asked, stalling for time while he tested out his limbs. His arms seemed alright, his legs were weak.

"She's inside, clearing out a room for us." Clay answered. At Jensen's look, he added, "Not with bullets, you idiot. She's paying for a room and getting us a back door."

Clay then paused to put two fingers to his ear, looking at nothing for a moment. Then he nodded.

"Alright. We're on our way. Jensen, you sure you can walk?" Clay gave him that annoyed look that secretly covered up love and affection. Jensen grinned back.

"Of course I can! Just give me some space guys." Jensen shifted his legs over the side of the van and then pushed himself the rest of the way up, into a sitting position. The sudden movement stretched his bad shoulder- his new bad shoulder, that is, and his aching chest. Jensen tried another of his deep breaths while he steadied himself.

"You sure man? You look pale even for you." It annoyed Jensen that Pooch was so concerned for him when he was beat half to hell himself. It made him feel like he was weak. And Jensen wasn't weak.

"You know in the 18th century, pale skin was considered the epitome of beauty. Women would bathe in milk and powder their faces white to try and look as pale as they possibly could- it's what the 'fair' in 'fair lady' means. So you can just shove your jealous barbs up your ass, Sir Pooch, and admit I'm the most beautiful one here." While he talked he inched himself slowly off the van, trying not to stretch or tear anything as he went. By the end of his little history lesson, he'd gotten his feet on the ground and pushed up to stand- instantly his vision went dark and the world spun around him.

Jensen gripped at the van's edge, and felt a hand on his shoulder steadying him. When the blackness receded and he felt somewhat secure standing, he gave the owner of the hand on his shoulder a thankful grin. Cougar nodded back, his eyes shadowed by his hat.

"… alright, Cougar you go with him. Keep him on his feet. I'll be just ahead, so call me back if you need an extra hand, otherwise I'll be clearing the way ahead and meeting up with Aisha. Pooch, think you can drive far enough to stash the van?"

"As long as it doesn't involve any quick, fancy maneuvering."

"Let's hope not. Alright Losers, let's go."

Clay turned and headed across the back parking lot of a motel towards what looked like a staff entrance. Jensen eyed the distance wearily.

Cougar shifted closer, putting his shoulder under Jensen's and wrapping his other arm around his ribs. Jensen hissed in pain when Cougar put pressure on his side.

"Cougar, be gentle!"

"The ribs aren't broken. I checked." That shut Jensen up, who decided to devote all his attention to making it across the parking lot without passing out. Cougar patently supported him the entire way, and they made it to Clay and his propped open door without anyone having to do a face plant.

Inside, Pooch joined them around the time they got to their dingy back side motel room. Aisha let them in and the place seemed to have already been transformed into a makeshift army med tent. The table was in the middle of the room with a plastic tablecloth strapped to it, the couch shoved against the wall with the rest of the useless furniture.

"What, are we doing surgery or something?" Aisha caught his eye as she finished drying some kitchen utensils. A pot of boiling water was cooling behind her. It didn't look good.

"The bullet in your shoulder." Cougar reminded him.

"God damn it! Alright fine, let's do this. Again. Why is it always me?"

"'Cause you're the one with the big mouth." Clay grumbled half to himself, leaning against the wall and looking at the floor. Jensen was about to answer when he realized it was the truth. Well, damn.

"Lie down on the table and take your shirt off." Aisha commanded, slipping on some latex gloves that she got from who-knows-where. Jensen chuckled to himself; she could at least buy him a drink first. Before he could grace everyone's ears with this witty retort, Cougar moved past him and touched the array of knives in front of the girl.

"I'll do it." He seemed firm in his decision. Aisha glared back at him, and then swept her eyes over the rest of the men in the room, her gloved hands still ready to get to work digging into Jensen's body.

Cougar was the one who has always patched them up before. He had dug a bullet out of Jensen's shoulder not that long ago, and Aisha had been the one to put that bullet there. Really, one of them clearly had the better resume.

Whatever she saw in the other men's faces, Aisha gave a disgusted snort and stepped back.

"Fine, have it your way." She peeled off the gloves and handed them to Cougar. He glanced down at them with a half smile and a glint of amusement in his eyes, ignoring them to pick up the supplies she'd cleaned and examining them.

"We've all been covered in each others blood before- if we were gonna get each other sick, we'd have done it already." Clay answered her furious look.

The back-alley style operation was agonizingly painful, as always, but quick and military. Cougar had him stitched up and Jensen could unclench his teeth from a borrowed belt in no time. Or that's what he told himself as he closed his eyes and worked on his breathing. Then a sudden stinging made him snap his eye back open again. Weren't they done yet?

"Hold still buddy. Cougar's got to clean your burns." Pooch was leaning his hip next to him on the table, done cleaning up blood but still staying close. Cougar glanced up from pressing a damp cotton ball to one of Jensen's chest burns to give him a look. His black hair fanned down around him, and his cowboy hat shadowed his face like always. He certainly didn't look like a doctor, but Jensen couldn't have trusted anyone more.

"… sure thing guys." Jensen made an effort to smile and then just closed his eyes again.

It took forever to clean the burns.

.

When Jensen was finally allowed off that godforsaken table, he had lost enough blood that the blackness was permanently lurking at the edge of his vision. Clay had a glass of water for him.

"Here, soldier." Jensen downed it gratefully as he noticed Pooch and Aisha were gone. After chugging the glass down he asked about it.

"Pooch is asleep in the side room. Cougar'll look him over before he wakes up. Aisha's out, doing whatever it is Aisha does with her time." Clay sounded weary. Tired. It made him seem like an old man.

Cougar finished washing up and brushed his hand over Jensen's shoulder and he walked past, heading for Pooch's room. Once he was gone, Clay rested his head back against the wall, eyes closed, while Jensen leaned heavily on the plastic covered table across from him.

"You okay Colonel?"

"I've told you to stop calling me that Jensen. I'm not a Colonel anymore. I'm not anything."

Jensen paused at that, trying to think of what to say. All his textbook psychology, not that he had all THAT much, told him that this was clearly an identity problem, but the way he worded it also sounded like more than that. Like maybe this was an issue of loss, too. He'd lost his position as Colonel, he'd lost three men on a mission, he'd lost Roque- and the last one was purely Roque's fault, the bastard.

"Hey, Clay. You're still a Colonel whether you're receiving military orders or not. Max only takes that from you if you let him. And you got us back alright, so no harm no foul, right?"

Clay cracked an eye at him.

"No harm?"

Jensen gave a sheepish grin.

"Ah, well, this is different. This is mostly my fault. Just because the guy had to have been spawned from the combination of a cheap hooker and a runty bulldog, doesn't mean I have to remind him of that. I'm sure it's a very painful memory for him."

"Damn right you don't." But Clay still sounded weary, defeated.

"Alright boss, open up. What is it?" Jensen wasn't going to hobble his pasty ass over to that couch until he got some answers. And even then, movement was debatable.

There was a long stretch of silence where Clay examined the ceiling and Jensen resolved to wait him out. He could be quiet if he wanted to. He just never wanted to.

"… I've lost men before. We all have. It's a tragedy every time, they were all good men. But this is different. With the Losers." Clay still wouldn't look at him.

"Yeah. I know." For once Jensen didn't have a speech for him. He just waited for Clay to say more.

"Then they took all three of you, just ripped you away, and then I had… nothing, soldier. Without you three I had nothing." Clay worked to sound like a man in charge, even when letting himself be weak.

"Not even your lovely lady friend?" Jensen couldn't help adding.

"Not even her. I admit, I owe her for how she managed to find the lot of you, and I'm grateful for it, but if she hadn't then we wouldn't have continued together."

Jensen thought about that for a moment. Clay never opened up like this, he was very serious about his strong, undefeatable image. It was important for a commanding officer to keep up that appearance with his tropes, but that wasn't exactly what the Losers were anymore. Jensen smiled a little to himself, thinking about his various computer passwords. He'd been thinking about them as a family for a while now.

"Don't worry Colonel. We're not going anywhere." Clay looked down from the ceiling to eye the blood stains on the dingy motel carpet floor. There was a lot, but the rug was suspiciously close in color to that of old, dirty, dried blood, so the stains could fade relatively unnoticed. It was probably one of the shadiest motels Jensen had ever seen, and he'd seen some shady motels.

"You seem pretty confident about that for a man with half his body's worth of blood on the ground- here and back in that warehouse."

"Don't worry so much Colonel. I'm a tough cookie. It hasn't killed me yet."

"'Yet' being the key word."

"Hey, just because I'm a techie doesn't mean I'm some kind of princess."

"What about being such a 'fair lady'? And you certainly didn't walk out to the car from that warehouse."

Jensen was about to answer the 'fair lady' accusation when the second comment caused a blush to turn his whole face red. He could suddenly picture Clay carrying him out of the concrete building, possibly over one shoulder or in a fireman's carry. Please god let it not be bridal style. He wouldn't be able to live it down.

"… fine, so you're my Knight in Shining Armor then? Alright Knight, assist me to my decadent bedchamber." Jensen pointed towards the moldy couch stuffed in the corner. Jensen's efforts to make a game of it fell short as Clay moved to help him without protest. Jensen really didn't like being so weak. It made him feel like baggage.

After depositing Jensen on the couch, Clay turned around and stopped. Both of them just now noticed Cougar leaning on the wall outside the door to Pooch's room. Jensen was the first to recover.

"Damn Cougar, how long have you been standing there?" Cougar glanced up, looked over at them from under his hat. He raised an eyebrow.

"Normally we would notice, but not when we're all this tired. Make yourself known next time Cougar." Clay demanded, and then walked past him to the doorway.

"I'll go buy a few things. You stay here." And then he left and locked the door behind him, not waiting for an answer. Not that Cougar would have felt the need to give one.

"Now look at that, you made him all embarrassed." Jensen grinned.

Cougar pushed off the wall and walked over to the dingy sink, filling a glass of water. Once it was close to full he shut off the spout and walked over to the couch, placing the glass on a table within easy reach, and sat down on the floor, his back resting against where Jensen's upper body was situated on the pillows.

"Hey, uh, Cougar. Thanks." Jensen was awkward with his thank yous.

Cougar touched the edge of his hat in acknowledgement of the comment, but didn't say anything more. Jensen waited a few more moments while Cougar sat- as still as a statue. Jensen couldn't tell if he was even breathing.

"Hey… you okay?"

Cougar glanced over his shoulder at him, his eyes blank. Cougar usually said everything with his eyes.

"What's up man? Is it the whole warehouse thing? Did they do something to you?" Jensen felt an icy chill climb up into his gut. He didn't breathe as all the different possibilities flared to life in his head.

Cougar just snorted.

"I'm not the one who was cause for concern, amigo." Jensen remembered to breathe again, relief unclenching his limbs. Oh okay. This was just about him again. Did he need to personally reassure each member of his team that he hadn't actually died?

Jensen watched the way Cougar stared straight ahead, blank eyes seeing nothing. Maybe he did.

"Look, Cougar, I'm alive." Jensen pointed to himself, waiting for the shadowed eyes to look back at him. "You saved me. I'm going to be alright. It's over." Cougar didn't seem that convinced. His eyes still had that dead numbness Jensen hated.

"Look, we're black ops soldiers- getting the shit kicked out of you is an occupational hazard for us. These things happen in our line of work."

"No. This does not." Hispanic accented words interrupted the techie's carefully constructed speech. "You being captured, beaten and tortured should not have happened. I should not have let it happen."

"What could you have done man? You were in a cell block like me, just a few halls over."

"Exactly."

Cougar wouldn't look at him. He seemed dead set on condemning himself and it was getting under Jensen's skin.

"Cougar, no part of this-" he pointed to himself, "is your fault. It's my fault, it's those bastards fault, it's whoever leaked where we'd be and when's fault. We're in the same boat man."

Cougar looked over at Jensen's prone form, and lightly touched a burn mark that rested were his neck met his collarbone.

"It is my job to protect you."

Jensen was a little confused by Cougar's strange tone and the touching, but for some reason he didn't feel uncomfortable at all. Not that it was easy to make the great Jake Jensen feel uncomfortable, of course. He lightly gripped at the hand resting at his throat and made sure Cougar's eyes were locked with his.

"It's okay."

Cougar stared back at him for a bit longer before something seemed to shift in him, a subtle release of tension that make his body liquid again, easy to slouch back against the couch and tip his hat over his face. It was his typical relaxed pose, but Jensen mourned that Cougar's hand disappeared with the change in position. Ah well. At least he still had his guardian lounging at his feet.

Or, to the immediate right of his elbow anyway. Close enough. Or not close enough. Hey, he'd had a stressful day, no one had the right to judge him and or his needs.

Sometimes a man just needed a hug, god dammit.

After a few seconds of silence Cougar's voice made another appearance- the man was really outdoing himself with all these words today.

"Stop daydreaming and go to sleep. I'll wake you went the other's get back."

Jensen smiled to himself and shifted deeper into the ratty pillows.

"Sure thing good buddy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end! I wrote this a short little thing to satisfy my post-movie needs once it came out. Also to practice writing. I need some work, but I can only get better from here, really. =) fun times. Also, if you couldn't tell, I adore Jensen. Also the rest of the losers, but especially Jensen.


End file.
